Friends?
by NCCJFAN
Summary: They're only friends now...because that's the way Woody wanted it. But how does he feel when Jordan starts dating someone else? Nothing like a little steamy sex to take the wrinkles out of a relationship.
1. Stupid Stupid Stupid

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em….probably couldn't afford 'em even if they were for sale.**

**The kernel for this little story came from a dream that Tracey Harmon (Robandchrismom) had. So kudos for her for the initial idea…and then my perverted mind took it over from there. Like Tracey has _always_ said….a dirty mind is a horrible thing to waste…..**

**

* * *

****Chapter One**

**Stupid…Stupid….Stupid**

He was the one that said they would remain friends.

He was tired of the chase…of the same song and dance, and was ready to move on. He was the one that said he was ready to find someone to have a serious relationship with – other than her. But, he still wanted them to be friends. After all, they had to work together on nearly a daily basis.

A decision that was good for everyone, right?

She had hesitated that night…but finally agreed. And had respected his decision. She hadn't pursued him…or flirted with him…or looked at him with those honey-brown eyes in the way that only she could – and make all of the blood in his body flow south so that he had to squirm or walk uncomfortably for the next few minutes.

She had done none of the above.

And that is why he was mentally kicking his own ass at the moment. "I am so stupid…stupid…stupid…" he muttered to himself as he watched her clean up his apartment – dressed in a pair of old, denim shorts and a baby doll t-shirt.

He was wounded…shot by a sniper in the line of duty. A serious injury, hitting a few major organs and generally causing chaos and panic to his insides. He had been in the hospital for weeks…learned that he had quit breathing and needed CPR ….and had spent at least four days in a relaxing coma before coming to and becoming aware of the fact that _she_ had been the one to give him CPR.

One last chance to taste her lips and he was unconscious. Damn.

He was not only stupid, he also had incredibly bad timing.

But now he was home and that brought him to why she was there in his apartment dressed in a pair of denim shorts that he would bet his next paycheck she had worn in high school and an old, too-tight t-shirt he would wager was just as old.

He couldn't do a thing. The doctor had sent him home on the condition that he sit on his ass for six weeks and not lift a finger. No cooking, no cleaning, no driving, no nothing….including sex.

Not that this was an issue. That well had been dry for a couple of years now, he would admit. Not since she had been the focus of all his fantasies and those dreams had never become a reality.

And they certainly wouldn't now, especially with him playing the "Let's-remain-friends" card.

Anyway, since he could do nothing for himself, different folks from the morgue and the precinct had been by to cook, clean, do his laundry and his shopping. Jordan had agreed to help…once during the week and then again on Saturdays.

He had protested at first. "I don't want to mess up your weekends."

"No problem…I'll be over on Saturday mornings and Wednesday nights. It's the least I can do…after all, we are _friends_." She had put the emphasis on the last word.

And he didn't let her see him flinch.

So now it was Saturday morning and she was at his apartment….cleaning…making spaghetti sauce for supper….washing his jeans, shirts, towels, and boxers. And trying to fix his vacuum cleaner. She was sitting on the floor with her long legs stretched out in front of her, trying to get the machine unclogged. "You know…if you'd change the bag occasionally, it would help, Wood," she commented, as she shook the hose to try to dislodge some of the debris.

"Sorry…housework has never been my thing, you know….clean up a little before company and that's all."

She grunted. "You could always hire a maid service."

The wicked thought of Jordan Cavanaugh in a naughty French maid outfit flitted across Woody's mind and parked…front and center. He said nothing for a moment…relishing the vision.

"Woody? You okay? Do you need some more pain medication?"

Mentally he shook himself. "No…no…and on a cop's salary? Have a cleaning service?"

She shrugged. "It was just an idea…There…" She had the vacuum fixed and was hard at it again. He tried his best not to watch as she vacuumed the rest of the apartment…especially when she bent over. He swallowed hard. He wondered if she could manage to run him a cold shower before she left…

She dusted….folded the laundry….and got his supper for him. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he managed to get out around spaghetti noodles and some of the best marinara sauce he had ever eaten. She can cook, too? Why didn't he know this? "Don't you want some?"

"Ummmm, no. I need to go."

"It's early…and you've cooked enough for an army…don't you want to stay for a while?"

She shook her head and looked a little uncertain about what to tell him next. "No, I need to go get ready…"

He assumed she meant for work. But in a teasing tone, he asked, "What's the rush? You got a hot date?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I do," she replied in a quiet voice.

Woody stopped eating. Suddenly his appetite was gone. "Good for you," he rejoined in an equally quiet tone.

She began to gather up her things to leave. "Do I know him?" he finally asked, wondering who it could be that was spending the evening with her. A twinge…no, a wave of jealousy washed over him.

"I don't know if you've ever met him or not….It's Troy Hinson."

"The assistant DA?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you didn't like lawyers."

"Troy's different. I've known him since high school. Do you need anything else before I leave?"

He shook his head. She had done quite enough.

* * *

Woody didn't see or hear from her until Wednesday when she dropped by after work to cook dinner and throw another load of jeans and boxers in the wash. She arrived with chicken and vegetables to cook…and lemon pie…his favorite dessert.

"You don't have to go through all this trouble, Jordan," he said, watching her prepare dinner from his spot on the couch.

"It's no trouble. Besides, you need to eat right so you'll get better faster. We need you back out there catching the bad guys." She threw him a grin so reminiscent of old times that he nearly caught himself flirting with her again.

Before he remembered. They were friends. Just friends. And she was dating Troy.

Troy. The name conjured up an image of a big, blonde, football player. That didn't seem like Jordan's type. He had to know…so he figured he'd ask. All she could do is say no. He picked up the TV remote and turned his attention to the program on the set. "How'd your date go Saturday?" he asked, trying to remain coolly casual.

"Good. It went really well."

"Where'd he take you?"

"Café de Art."

Woody's head spun. That was one of the most exclusive restaurants in town. Local artists displayed their painting and sculptures amid food prepared by five star chefs. And the wine selection was "to die for," according the restaurant reviews the eating establishment had garnered. Not that he knew too much about wine. If it wasn't Guinness or a Scotch neat, he had no idea whether it was good or not.

And he had no idea that Jordan liked such places. The times they had grabbed dinner together had either been at a fast food joint or a casual sit-down diner.

He never figured her for a wine connoisseur.

"Did you have a good time?" he continued, still trying to act nonchalant.

"It was really nice. We ate and then walked down by the water front. It was a quiet end to a busy week. I think we both had a chance to relax and reconnect. I hadn't seen Troy in years…not since our last high school reunion about five years ago. I didn't know he was even back at town until I ran into him taking Rene' some reports about three weeks ago…" Thank God, the oven timer went off and she had to turn her attention to the chicken. Woody didn't know if he could handle any more information about ADA Hinson on an empty stomach, much less the knowledge that Jordan enjoyed "a quiet end to a busy week with another man." In the past, what time they did spend together outside of work was about…work. They'd speculate on cases…chase down hunches….

He was never aware that Jordan might enjoy a life _outside_ of work.

"Stupid…stupid…stupid…." He muttered to himself one more time before she brought his supper to him.


	2. It’s That Little Nagging Voice in the Ba...

**Chapter Two**

**It's That Little Nagging Voice in the Back of Your Head**

Saturday came one more time and seeing her was becoming a pattern. Oh, she'd call everyday…check on him…see if he needed anything…but she never came over unless it was her days to take care of him.

She must be spending the rest of her time with _Troy_, he thought, nearly grinding the name out through his teeth. _Troy, Troy, Troy._

So when she sailed through his apartment door early that Saturday morning, Woody found himself in a bad mood as he took in her appearance. Same shorts. Same t-shirt. Must be her cleaning attire. He grimaced. It was going to be a long day.

"Morning Woody. How are you feeling?" she said with a smile.

"Fine."

His tone didn't match his description.

"Are you sure? You don't sound fine."

"I said I'm fine, Jordan."

"Okay, whatever you say…" her voice trailed off as she went into the kitchen to make some coffee. He heard her murmur under her breath about what a bear he was in the mornings and hopefully some coffee would make him feel better.

He didn't know how to tell her that some of her would make him feel better…much better.

But hell, for five more weeks he couldn't even take out the trash, much less do anything else.

Meanwhile, she was seeing Troy. _Troy, Troy, Troy_.

"So what do you need me to do today?" she asked as she slid a mug of hot coffee in his hand.

"You really don't need to be using up your days off taking care of me."

"Look, Woods, it's a non-issue. We're friends and that's what friends do … take care of each other. Especially friends like us who don't have family. I guess we're kind of our own family …. You know?"

Woody wanted to tell her that his thoughts for her were far from brotherly. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Need your pain meds?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No… not right now. Maybe later." He wondered if his expression of desire bore a resemblance of pain. If it did, he needed to work on that.

"Okay….I'll fix breakfast and start laundry. Meanwhile, you decide what needs to be done….and I'll take care of it."

She had no idea what a loaded statement she just made.

He watched her as she cleaned his apartment once again…catching up the laundry…putting something on for dinner. It smelled like pot roast. Pot roast. He had no idea the woman was that good of a cook. He hadn't had pot roast since he moved from Wisconsin. If she fixed it with vegetables and gravy, he'd nominate her for sainthood.

_You know you could really have it made_ said the little voice inside his head. _You've got a gorgeous, half-dressed woman cleaning your apartment…cooking you pot roast of all things….a woman that at one time would have willing come into your arms with just a little more persuasion…and you played the friends card. You idiot._

She was saying something else to him. "What?" he asked. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you…"

"I said," she began, coming out of his bathroom, "that if you ever let your bathroom get that dirty again, I'm calling the board of health and have it shut down. That's gross in there."

Woody sighed. "Well….it's just me living here, Jordan. It's my grossness."

"Yeah…but I'm going to have to borrow your bathroom tonight."

_Not to get ready to go on a date with Troy, you're not._ Swallowing hard, he asked against his better judgment, "Hot date again?" Why did he even want to know?

"No…I'm working tonight."

Thank God for small miracles and Garret Macy's work schedule.

"Troy and I went out last night."

Damn.

* * *

He made it through the afternoon, watching her clean and finish dinner. When she called him to the table, he knew he'd have to talk to the dioceses about her sainthood status. There was pot roast, vegetables, gravy, and rolls. This time she ate with him. If you wanted to call it eating. It was more of him wolfing down dinner and her pushing food around on her plate.

"Eat," he told her. "You've got to work tonight and it's the weekend…you're going to be busy."

"I am eating."

He scoffed at her response. "That's not eating. That's….rearranging the food on your plate."

She laughed. "I just don't have much of an appetite tonight."

He sighed. "Is it the company?"

She looked at him quickly. "No…of course not. You're my friend, Woody."

He swore if he heard that come out of her mouth one more time he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. Just let these next five weeks be over quickly and he'd show her just how _friendly_ he could be.

_But it's your own fault…_ that nagging little voice in his head kept telling him. _You said that you two could be friends but your ego couldn't take her any longer. You were ready to move on…and she has. _

He told the little voice to shut up. It was a good decision, he rationalized. The best one for both of them, right?

_Well, if was so right, why do you want to run your hand up her thigh and…_he cut the voice off in mid-thought.

"Are you through?" she asked, reaching for his plate.

"Huh? What? Oh, yeah, sure…" he said, thinking of exactly where his hand would be…and cursing the fact that he couldn't even suit up for practice for five more weeks.

Five more long weeks. And where exactly would Troy have gotten with her by then?

He didn't want that little voice in his head to answer that question.

"Okay…think you can handle stacking the dishwasher while I grab a quick shower?"

He nodded and watched her take off towards his bedroom, pushing the door half-way closed. She should have shut it…like she did the bathroom door.

He stacked the dishwasher.

_The least you could do is go to the door and see if she needs anything,_ said the voice. _It would be the gentlemanly thing to do…_

He rinsed out the dishtowel.

_She may need something…shampoo…_

He hung up the towel and headed for the bedroom.

He shouldn't have gone in….her things were on the bed…That scrap of lace was her underwear? He swallowed hard and felt sweat pop out on his forehead. _And I bet she's worn undies like that beneath those tight jeans the entire time you've worked with her and you never knew…._And the other lacey scrap was obviously her bra—what there was of it…_Oh damn…you are an idiot…._And why didn't he made the effort to discover this before?

Because he decided he just wanted to be friends with her.

"Oh," she said, coming out of the bathroom, dressed in his robe. "I hope you don't mind, I borrowed your robe….I forgot mine."

"No…not at all…" _And I'll smell your perfume on it for weeks…and it looks much better on you than it does me…and …and…what are the chances I might get you out of it?_

"Thanks," she said flashing him a smile. "Ummm, but I need to get dressed now, Woody?"

He took his cue and exited his bedroom, leaving her, those scraps of lace, and his fantasies behind.

But the nagging, little voice followed him…_You idiot._


	3. You Give Me Fever

**Chapter Three**

**You Give Me Fever**

It was getting no better as the weeks passed. Some evenings he would call her office to ask her a question. Just to hear her voice.

And he'd answer the phone. He being Troy. _Troy, Troy, Troy_. She'd come on the phone and explain she had to work late and Troy, being the gentleman he was, would bring her dinner.

Dinner. Did the rube really think that _dinner_ was going to get him anywhere with Jordan Cavanaugh? He had bought the woman countless dinners and had never got beyond first base.

Okay, so most of those dinners you had to unwrap and didn't require a fork and spoon.

Still….it was dinner, right?

Woody's patience was coming to an end. Yes, he had told her to move on. He had planned on moving on himself.

He just didn't realize she would do it so quickly…and seem to enjoy it so much. So when Jordan came up with a new idea for Wednesday night dinners, he thought he'd explode with frustration.

"Say, Woody…feel like watching a movie after dinner?" she asked casually when she breezed in late one Wednesday afternoon with a Blockbuster bag on her arm.

"Sure….I guess."

"Good. Because I told Troy to come eat with us and then stay and watch a movie."

"_Troy?"_ he asked…feeling his voice rise with tension.

"Yeah." She looked at him. He must not be feeling well. She'd swear he didn't like the idea. "Are you okay?"

"Just fine."

"Yeah, well anyway, I told Troy to come by. I want you to meet him and for him to meet you. After all…you're my friend and your opinion of him means a lot to me."

Woody could feel his teeth grinding to mere nubs. But did he have a choice? His doorbell was already ringing. A moment later, the ADA was in his living room, as big and as blonde as Woody had feared. A preppy football player with a law degree. Could it get any worse?

He never should have asked. Because it did.

He managed to choke down dinner as he watched those two talk and laugh…including him in the conversation, but he still felt like the odd man out. In his own house, no less.

But after dinner…when Troy reached around Jordan to get the Blockbuster bag, he kept one hand on Jordan's waist….well…only not exactly her waist. It was a little further south…but not quite on her rump.

Troy never knew how close he came to dying. If Woody could have managed to get to his service revolver, the ADA would have been dead meat.

So he watched from the couch as Jordan and Troy sat cuddled on the floor andviewed _Scream 2_. Great movie.

Poor company. At least on Woody's end. He had felt strange all day. And as the evening went on, he wasn't feeling any better. Finally, when Jordan stood to leave, she noticed Woody's face. It was flushed. Immediately, her hand went to his forehead. "You're warm," she exclaimed, instantly concerned.

"I haven't felt good…."

"Take your shirt off."

He rolled his eyes at her.

"You heard me…take your shirt off. I need to check your stitches. You may have an infection."

Self-consciously Woody began to unbutton his shirt as Troy looked on in amusement. "Jor…I gotta go…early day tomorrow," the lawyer said.

"Yeah, sure," she replied, her attention on Woody's incision, but she did lift her head for a quick kiss from the ADA. "Be careful."

Troy shot Woody a glance. "You, too."

Woody would have given anything to know exactly who Troy was speaking to…Jordan or him. He managed to give Troy an eat-shit-and-die grin before the lawyer left.

"You're a little infected, Wood." She had been so absorbed in her work she had overlooked the entire exchange. "Let me get these cleaned out and get you some Tylenol. She worked with him until his fever came down.

Finally, getting him to his bed and checking his temperature one last time, she tucked him in. "Will you be okay until tomorrow?" she asked. His fever had been minimal, but she still worried.

"Sure."

"Will you call me tonight if you get to feeling bad?"

He nodded.

"You promise?"

He nodded again. She got up from her spot on the side of the bed and began to walk to the door.

"Jordan?" he asked before she could leave.

"Yeah?" She turned to face him.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded.

"What does Troy have that I don't?"

She rolled her eyes and left the room. She assumed it was the fever talking.

She had no idea that Woody was ready to take back his "Let's-Be-Friends Card" for good.

At least for now.

* * *

Saturday rolled around and Jordan found herself back at Woody's apartment. She busily cleaned and did laundry….and put some soup on for Woody. She had been worried about him since Wednesday, when he was running the fever.

And today he didn't seem a whole lot better. His forehead remained cool, but he was quieter. He watched her clean the apartment. This time she didn't have on the shorts and t-shirt, but a denim skirt and a tan shirt. Finally, after being uncomfortable with his silence, she asked. "Woody…what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Remember who you're talking to, Farm Boy. What's the matter?" She walked over to the couch where he was laying down.

"Have you kissed him yet?"

"Him? Who?"

"Troy."

"Oh…him."

"Well, have you?"

She lowered her eyes. "Yeah."

"So…how's the whole relationship…the whole moving ahead thing?"

Jordan squirmed. "It feels funny talking to you about my dates, Woody. And I don't kiss and tell. Besides, don't feel so bad. Four more weeks and you'll be out there in dating wonderland, too. And I hear the ladies are lined up now waiting for you now that we've decided to call it quits and be just be friends. We'll be comparing dating notes in no time." She tried to smirk at him, but failed miserably.

He was just as miserable. And he felt even worse about making her feel bad. After all, he was the one that told her they could only be friends. He was the one that said it was time for both of them to move on.

Funny…neither of them had seemed to have really moved at all.


	4. Making Up for Lost Time

**Chapter Four**

**Making Up for Lost Time**

"Come here," he finally said, listening that tiny voice in his head that said now was the time to make his move.

She looked at him closely for a beat, then sat beside him on the couch. "What?'

He reached out and took her had, rubbing soft circles on the back of it. "Can you honestly see us comparing dating notes? Be real. The only thing that would end up happening is that one of us would get so insanely jealous that they'd end up killing the other person."

She smiled softly, looking down at their hands. "Maybe."

"So, do you like this Troy?"

"He's okay. Someone to spend some time with."

"Has he been good to you?"

"Yeah."

"A perfect gentleman?"

"A perfect gentleman."

"Stupid bastard."

Jordan looked at him again. "Come again?"

"Stupid bastard. Do you think if I had you in this apartment…like we are right now…and we were dating…that I'd behave like a perfect gentleman?"

"Yeah, but Woody, you've let me know for a while you were ready to move on…you were tired of this 'game' we've played for a couple of years. I've tried to honor that…and let you go."

He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. I did."

"And like you said…it's all for the best. We'd end up killing each other inside of a week, right?"

He looked deep into her eyes. "No…you and I both know that wouldn't happen…" Woody let go of her hand and inched his way up to her waist, pulling her closer. "Would it?"

"Woody…" Damn. Her voice sounded weak, even to her. She had nearly forgotten what affect his touch had on her. Between the tingles his light touch was causing to run up and down her spine and the smell of his cologne, her brain was turning to mush.

"What?" His lips were less than an inch away.

"We need to stop this now…"

"No…not this time…" he lowered his lips and softly caressed hers until he felt her respond. Then he gently traced her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth…and her world spun. Instinctively she reached out for his shoulders just to maintain some kind of hold on her world…which was quickly whirling out of control when his hand gently traced her leg from her calf to her knee…stopping there and stroking behind it. When she felt fire streak up her thigh and begin to pool below her navel, she broke the kiss.

"Woody…" God…her voice not only sounded weak, it sounded breathless. "You can't…" his lips were now on her neck. "You mustn't…." he softly nipped her shoulder. "The doctor said…"

"I know," he whispered in her ear…gently stirring the fine hairs at her neck and causing cold chills to run like Niagara down her spine. "We don't have to…" he found her lips again, and for a long moment they clung to each other. When he finally lifted his head from hers…she was soft…and willing….

Jordan opened her eyes and looked into his blue ones, still slightly dazed by what had just happened. His hands were still beneath her shirt, stroking her back. "So much for moving on," she said.

"No…I think we have…just moved on to another place in our relationship. Face it, Jordan. It's there. We both can fight it…try to ignore it….date other people until we're blue in the face. We were meant for each other. And no matter where we go…what we do…we'll always find our way back to each other…You can't deny it."

She sighed and gently traced his cheek with a finger. She couldn't ignore the feelings he caused…or what her heart was telling her…and just the very fact that he was right. "I know…" She pulled his head back down for a full kiss…and began to unbutton his shirt.

_She admitted it…_ the voice in his head was going haywire. _Finally! _And he couldn't do a damn thing about it…not now. "Jordan," he said, trying to stop her searching hands. "Jordan…don't you remember what the doctor told me…"

"Yeah. I do. And like you said we don't have to…That is unless you don't want to…"

He chuckled and pulled her close. "Oh no…I want to…"

* * *

The next four weeks were the slowest in Woody's life. He had her. But he couldn't make her his until the doctor gave him the okay. The days crawled by…until finally the four weeks were up…and he was given a clean bill of health. He stopped by her office to give her the good news.

She wasn't there.

Nigel said she had left for the day…she had some things to take care of.

He went by her apartment.

She wasn't there, either.

He headed back out to his car when his cell phone rang. "Hoyt," he said. _Gee, this better not be work…not tonight_…the voice inside his head raged.

"Farm Boy…where are you at?"

"I'm looking for you. I've tried your office…your apartment…"

"Oh? I figured you'd be going home now…since your doctor said everything could now function normally…."

He stopped for a beat. "How did you know that?" Curiosity tinged his question.

"It helps when you have inside sources…I went to college with his nurse."

"Oh…so where are you?"

"Gee…in some man's apartment…waiting on him to come home…seems he made me a few promises I intend to make him keep this evening…even if it takes all night…."

"My apartment? How did you get in?"

"I am a resourceful woman, Woody. I thought you knew that about me by now." She heard him chuckle. "There's just one thing I can't seem to find…"

"What's that?"

"Something suitable to wear…I guess I'm going to have to settle for just this towel…."

He gulped. "You're…you're only wearing a towel?"

"Uh-huh…"

A picture of Jordan wrapped in a towel went front and center in his mind. Forget the French maid outfit…this was even better.

"Did you hear me, Woody?' she asked.

"What?"

"Did you hear me…I asked you how soon can you be home?"

"Ten minutes. Tops."

"I'll be waiting…."

"Good. Hold that thought… I'll be right home." He pulled out of her parking lot and made it home in five. She answered his door wearing nothing but a towel and a grin.

Slamming the door behind him, he reached for her, but she danced out of his reach. "Say it," she commanded.

"Oh…come on, Jordan…"

"Nope…say it."

He blew out a deep sigh. "Okay…I was wrong. I don't want to just be your friend any longer…"

"And…"

"And I want to be your lover…and your friend…"

"Now was that so difficult?"

She allowed him to take her then, squealing as he picked her up and took her to the bedroom. "No…that wasn't difficult at all…however…." He began to take off his shirt and tie, working his way to his pants as she caught her breath from where he had tossed her on the bed. "I hope you are rested up…and your cell phone is off…because tonight. Dr. Cavanaugh…I intend to make up for four weeks of lost time…"


End file.
